Inside the cave, the fire smelled like pine and something older—dust, sweat, and survival.
Lucien paused in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the warm orange light. The space wasn't grand—just rough stone walls, furs piled for bedding, and the unmistakable weight of people who had stayed alive longer than anyone expected.
A tall man stepped forward. Broad shoulders, graying beard, a leather pauldron half-melted from an old spell wound.
"Lord Lucien," he said, disbelief laced through his voice. "You're actually here."
Lucien blinked. "Arion?"
The man gave a dry smile. "Still breathing. Somehow."
Lucien crossed the floor and grasped his arm. "I thought you died at Brenhold."
"They thought so too. Took a blade to the lung. Seradine pulled me out before the tower mages closed in."
Seradine shifted by the wall, arms crossed. Her mouth twitched at the memory, pride hidden under exhaustion.
Another voice chimed in—sharp, steady, female. "He always said you'd return." A woman stepped into view, maybe late thirties, eyes sharp with hard-earned clarity. "Every time we packed up and ran, Arion said the same thing. 'The Fire King doesn't stay buried.'"
Lucien looked at her. "And what did you say?"
"I said hope's a luxury we couldn't afford." She gave a small nod. "Looks like I was wrong."
Lucien let out a slow breath as he scanned the room. Faces stared back—older, worn, but solid. People who had waited for him without knowing they were waiting.
"How many?" he asked.
"Not enough," Arion replied. "Maybe twenty-something total, scattered across the range. Some stayed close, others are deeper—south caves, riverline posts. We kept things quiet. Kept moving."
Lucien's gaze returned to Seradine. "She told you to hide. Clarity."
Arion nodded. "Yeah. Her spells kept us off the map. Her warnings came early. But she never explained herself. Just said we had to survive. Then she'd disappear."
"She never asked for trust," the woman added. "But she kept us alive. That counted."
Lucien went quiet. That didn't sound like the same woman who had stood by while the Tower sealed his fate.
"She helped you," he said slowly. "But she betrayed me."
"Sometimes it's not as simple as that," Arion said. "Maybe she did both."
Lucien turned toward the fire, pulling a charred token from his coat pocket. The blood-ink shimmered faintly in the heat.
"I've sent out the call," he said. "To every one of us still breathing. You tell them I'm alive. That the Tower is moving. And that this time—we're not retreating."
For a second, no one moved.
Then Arion dropped to one knee, head lowered.
The woman followed. Then Seradine. Then the rest.
Lucien didn't say anything more.
He didn't need to.
The fire had been waiting.
And now it was lit.